


Pull

by Jay_eagle



Series: Submission [9]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Dom/sub, Light BDSM, M/M, Rope Bondage, Slapping, Sub Douglas, Top Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 04:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4947298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_eagle/pseuds/Jay_eagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An anon on Tumblr requested a fic where Martin has to work hard to pull Douglas into subspace, and clairedrawsairdraws/doorwaytoparadise requested some top Martin... so this fic is the result. It's a standalone - you don't need to have read the rest of the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pull

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doorwaytoparadise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doorwaytoparadise/gifts).



“Hold still, I said.”

 

Martin’s voice was silky and deep as he pressed Douglas’ cheek down into the pillow, digging his nails into the nape of Douglas’ neck just enough to leave crescent imprints in the skin. Douglas wriggled defiantly, grinning up at Martin, but his grin was replaced by a flinch as Martin’s hand met his bare behind with a stinging  _smack_.

 

“None of that,” Martin chastised, coldly, though Douglas could clearly see his dom’s erection, bobbing tantalisingly near the FO’s face. “Lie still.”

 

Douglas held Martin’s gaze, then slowly, deliberately, wriggled one foot. Martin’s eyes flicked to the motion, and he glared. “Fine,” he snapped. “If that’s the way you want to play it.”

 

He opened the cupboard next to the bed and yanked out the four coils of red rope kept especially for the purpose. “Roll over,” he ordered, and Douglas obeyed – though only after a disrespectful hesitation that induced Martin to pinch his nipple in punishment. As Douglas hissed at the sting of it, without another word Martin moved Douglas’ arms to form a Y shape with his body. Efficiently, he used the rope to tie French bowline knots at each wrist that he then fastened loosely to the bedposts.

 

“Bit slack, isn’t it?” Douglas taunted, moving his arms unbidden to show the extent of the flex Martin had left him. He was disconcerted, though, when Martin simply smirked – a proper, evil grin that made something in Douglas shiver submissively. It was an expression that anyone who knew them both would have said belonged on Douglas’ face, not Martin’s – but other people had never seen Martin in the bedroom. And as Douglas well knew, when Martin topped, he didn’t mess around.

 

Proving his point, Martin stalked to the foot of the bed, gripped Douglas’ ankles, and yanked. Too surprised to resist, Douglas slid down the sheets, his arms pulled taut and straining above his head. His muscles began to ache almost immediately, and his next half-formed taunt died in his throat.

 

“Legs apart.” Martin’s tones brooked no argument, and Douglas automatically did as he was told. “Good,” Martin praised, briskly; Douglas felt the warm pleasure of the accolade flutter through his stomach, and his eyes hooded as he watched Martin tie his ankles, looping the rope round the leg of the bed and then sliding a prusik knot back towards his bound leg on each side, until Douglas was more stretched out than he’d ever been. His breathing caught, his lungs straining slightly under the tension, and he hazily realised Martin was watching him intently.

 

“I’m not going to ask if you’re OK.” Martin climbed on to the edge of the bed, kneeling by Douglas’ hip. “I know you’ll safeword if you’re not.”

 

Douglas blinked, mutely. The ache in his muscles and his sheer immobility were causing a blank buzzing in his brain, his usual astuteness and sarcastic focus dissipating under the force of Martin’s domination at last. He looked up, watched as Martin raised a hand and delivered four more biting slaps to his thighs. His body tried to jerk away from the hits, but the ropes wouldn’t let him. He gasped desperately, and felt his cock shifting damply on his stomach where it lay, hard and unsatisfied.

 

Martin noticed, and traced a single finger up Douglas’ length, making him whine. “You’ve been a pain all evening,” he commented, now as idly as if they were discussing the weather. “I’m half-minded just to leave you like this.”

 

Frantically, Douglas shook his head.

 

Martin raised a supercilious eyebrow. “No?” He considered for a second. “Me first. We’ll see if you can keep your smart mouth shut long enough to earn your own reward.” He stretched and reached for the lubricant that had been sitting nearby since the start of the evening. “Did you at least prepare yourself, like I asked?”

 

Desperate relief made Douglas giddy as he nodded, almost hurting his neck in his urgency.

 

“Good,” Martin murmured. “Because you’ll get no more prep from me.” With that, he ran a slickened hand over his own cock, grimacing with pleasure at the sensation, before using his fingers to spread Douglas’ arse cheeks even further open. Douglas shivered at the chill at his entrance where lubricant still remained from his fingering of an hour before; then he moaned at the heated feel of Martin penetrating him in a steady, thrusting drive, not stopping till he was sunk to the root.

 

Martin gave him five seconds before beginning to move, but Douglas sobbed at the beautiful burn of it still; he closed his eyes and felt Martin’s hand brush his cheek softly, the feathery touch a delicious contrast to the roughness of Martin’s movements inside him. “Oh, oh,” he groaned. “Oh… _Sir_ …”

 

Douglas felt Martin falter, just for a moment, at hearing the epithet Douglas so rarely used; but then the captain redoubled his pace. “Good boy,” Martin purred, and Douglas arched his neck on instinct at the praise. “Good, that’s my lovely boy…”

 

Martin hit his prostate, and Douglas clenched around him. “Sir – please – please -“

 

“Soon,” Martin promised, voice hoarse. “Again. For me.”

 

Douglas understood the order and replicated the tightening of his muscles around Martin’s cock. He tried to do it rhythmically, finding his own delight in the action, his groin straining towards his own release as he tipped Martin into his.

 

“ _Coming_.” Martin gripped Douglas’ ribs, jerked a final time, pushing as deeply as he could before spilling with a growl, his hips twitching convulsively, breathing fast.

 

Douglas whimpered as Martin pulled out. He’d been getting so close…

 

It took him a moment to realise Martin was talking. “You did so wonderfully, lovely Douglas.” Martin’s words were quiet, and Douglas strained to hear them, concentrating on swimming in the voice that he most adored. “You earned your reward.”

 

Martin reached out and took Douglas’ cock in hand, stroking smoothly from balls to the head at a swift pace, pumping him as rapidly as he could. “You’re allowed to let go,” he said, eyes dark and unreadable. “I want to see you. Want to hear you.” His palm sped even more and Douglas yearned to curl his whole body in to the action, yet the ropes still cruelly prevented him. His arms and legs burned but his entire being was focused on his centre, on Martin’s fingers working him expertly.

 

“Please, please…”

 

“I know. You can come. Come  _now_.”

 

With a wail, Douglas came, and came, and came, Martin’s hand not ceasing, pulling the orgasm from Douglas’ core with relentless determination. The waves of bliss rippled through Douglas and he jerked wildly in his bonds until, at last, he went limp. His mind and body floated, feeling formless and liquid, and he was only dimly aware of Martin loosing him from the ropes and massaging some of the feeling back into his hands and feet.

 

“ _Look_  at you.” Martin’s approving voice gradually brought him back to a more present state. Martin was hungrily examining the marks left by the rope – pinkened indentations of the weave where it had wound round each of his limbs, a longer-lasting reminder of his bondage.

 

Martin kissed each mark reverently, then curled up next to Douglas on the bed. He traced the outline of something on each of Douglas’ thighs with his thumb. Curious, Douglas dopily raised his head to see: it was the prints of Martin’s hand, remaining from the slaps he’d dealt out.

 

Douglas smiled. “You like that, don’t you?”

 

Martin glanced up, and grinned sheepishly, equilibrium clearly reasserting itself after the scene. “I do, rather.”

 

“Hmm.” Douglas nosed his way into Martin’s neck, silently asking for an immediately-given embrace. “I do, too.”

 

“You’ll ache tomorrow.” Martin pressed a kiss into Douglas’ hair.

 

“Good.” Douglas let out a deep, relaxed exhale. “Thank you… Sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> Also published on my Tumblr - jay-eagle.tumblr.com.


End file.
